


Refugees

by Iknowthebattle



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF, Lady Bird (2017)
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-07
Updated: 2018-03-07
Packaged: 2019-03-28 02:50:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13894650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iknowthebattle/pseuds/Iknowthebattle
Summary: A twisted fairy tale.I have no idea where this came from.Angst. Beauty. Meandering metaphors and ways I see these two.I am so glad, in some way, in some form, they have one another.This is very weird and may not be everyone's cuppa. xx





	Refugees

A single room.

He on one side of the bed.

She on the other.

Both on their backs, staring at the ceiling, arms and legs spread wide, as if they could fly off the bed at any moment.  

Their hair, sparrow brown and palomino blonde framed the pillow, their heads like a halo.

Her breath heavy, deep, measured.

His breath light, shallow, dreamy, sad.

She imagined the ceiling would open up and grab her, returning her to some celestial kingdom of peace and quiet.

He imagined the ceiling was clouds, all shaped like the Manhattan skyline, never a dark and stormy one among them.

She wanted a cigarette.

He wanted a day without hours.

She would have written angry, sad poetry if this was five years ago.

He would have played hard to get if it would have mattered.

She watched her with another woman’s husband, quiet smiles over empty, stained wine glasses.

He watched him with a woman, quiet, empty kisses across stained, wine colored lips.

She felt sad that no one knew her.

He felt sad that everyone pretended to know him.

She remembered her laugh from behind the camera, sunglasses and perfect teeth.

He remembered looking into the camera, standing beside him in sunglasses, perfect teeth.

She raced to the end of conversations, sentences, and thoughts if it meant being close to her.

He looked away, conversations, sentences, thoughts met with stares elsewhere, never at him anymore.

She stoked the flame of her love steadily, keeping it alive, never out of control, always contained.

He watched as his first light of love became gas lamp and not fire work, soft glow, no display.

She had pretended they were sisters; _I want to be like you when I grow up._

He had pretended they were brothers, _I want to be like you when I grow up._

She knew it was safer this way.

He knew it hurt more this way.

She plotted, teaching herself all of the moves, her King, Knight and Pawns always a step behind the Queen.

He remembered shit that happened at 3:22 a.m. on a Thursday morning in a town no one had ever heard of.

She knew how pure she felt with her.

He knew how he was needed when he was with him.

They rolled over, other worldly beings, to face one another on their fort of earthly belongings; blankets and long forgotten hoodies and coats, zippers leaving red teeth marks in their hips where mouths were, where mouths should be.

Timothee wondered how he would know if the seasons were changing without him. He measured days, weeks, months, the color of the trees by his watch, by their time together.

Saoirse wondered how she would focus on books, on movies, on walking and talking at the same time without her. She had held her hand on the tight rope, waiting below with a net to catch her and with sparklers to celebrate her crossing or her fall.

“Let’s run away,” he whispered.

She nodded; face half covered by the black pillow case. It smelled like night sweats and her expensive make up.

_His make up?_

“Where will we go?”

He shrugged. “Underground?”  

“Above earth?”

He smiled.

“Out of our fucking minds.”

“Should we leave bread crumbs?”

He shook his head.

  _No, let them wonder where we went._ _Leave the rooms smelling like us; leave our shoes by the door, our words on screens, not in the air between us and them._ _Let them smell roses without us, find books without us, tell secrets to the others who rented space in their heart._

_Leave us on the floor, wondering how to tell time, how to turn the clock counter, holding hands, breathing a silent, rushed prayer to skip to the part that doesn’t feel like this._

_Leave them empty, full only on the feeling, the thought of us. Let them see us in pictures with other beings that creep into the frame, wrapping themselves around celluloid, opening themselves to us where they could only stitch the holes shut._

_Let them count the minutes; that is how they will now tell time. Let their worlds seem orange and blue, no longer a pallet of color, but drying paints._

_Young vampires, old hearts, outliving their mortal loves, curled around one another, kept young by the blood of others, drinking alone together in shadows where their faults and rhythms found one another._

Both closed their eyes and imagined the bed spinning from its center, a magic carpet.

_Children of New York._

_Children of Europe._

Children of Drag Balls, Hell’s Kitchen, Ireland, talent shows, film sets.

Masturbating to people with the same parts as theirs, under blankets, flashlights, phone lights, phone porn, texts.

Immigrants, finding secrets in trunks and yellowed photos.

Ghosts never knew how to give advice in these situations.

They couldn’t call on the ancestors, no guardians of the day or night.

Timothee sat up, necklace in his mouth, gum in the corner behind teeth, stale and flat, tucked under his back molars.

“If they find out…”

He nodded, arms folded over his knees.

Saoirse closed her eyes.

They were birds now, flying low to the ground, dipping to drink from a fountain, dirty lakes, and vast oceans, whatever their _Beloveds_ had once offered to them.

He watched her from under his limbs, blinking eyes against the pressure in his skull.

They were magicians now, pulling semi-new hearts from their hats, velvet robe and capes, running off the stage before they were tempted to saw their _Loves_ in half, to share, to conquer and divide.

_Abracadabra._

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr; Iknowthebattle xo


End file.
